


Enough is Enough

by spacejunkgirl



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, Hate Sex, M/M, Post-Series, Rival Sex, and he lives at the children of helios base with everyone, au I guess in that Vasquez didn't die but he's still a total asshat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8946160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacejunkgirl/pseuds/spacejunkgirl
Summary: "The Children of Helios base is secure against everything that’s been thrown at it so far, ranging from natural disasters like sandstorms to active hostility like bandits, scavengers, and every single wild animal on the planet. Vaughn had even allowed Rhys to start using it as his Atlas HQ, which is nice because it gives a lot of former Hyperion workers something to do again.But Vasquez is Vasquez, and even though he’s been largely declawed and tamed he still manages to be a complete pain in the ass. And somehow, he’s Rhys’s neighbor."Rhys can't sleep because of Vasquez's constant sexual escapades. When he decides to do something about it, things go wildly awry.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HEY THERE, quick notes:
> 
> -There needs to be WAY more of this hilarious pairing, I love them.
> 
> -I ship Rhys with like, everybody (Except Jack), so there is a mention of Rhys crushing on Sasha but it's only a couple of sentences if that pairing is not your Thing. It's just used as a plot device.
> 
> -This takes place post-series, in the Children of Helios base. Vasquez is alive, has a robot arm (after Old Haven), is still a powerhungry douche, but I figured Vaughn might keep him declawed and as a trophy of sorts? I dunno, I was trying to imagine how that dynamic might work, and it made ME laugh, so I rolled with it.
> 
> -Never written anal sex before, lemme know if it's janked

Rhys stares up at the dark ceiling, bending his pillow up and around his ears to try and block the sound coming from the next room over. It doesn’t help; even with the sound out of the equation, he can still feel the vibrations as the other bed bumps into the wall rhythmically.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump.

Rhys sighs angrily, frowning now, trying to will the ceiling into giving him an answer. He’s not sure why or how he ended up being neighbors with Vasquez, but it’s pretty much the cherry on top of the crap-sundae that is life on Pandora.

No -- no, it’s not all bad. He has Vaughn, most importantly, and also Fiona, Sasha, Yvette... The Children of Helios base is secure against everything that’s been thrown at it so far, ranging from natural disasters like sandstorms to active hostility like bandits, scavengers, and every single wild animal on the planet. Vaughn had even allowed Rhys to start using it as his Atlas HQ, which was nice because it gave a lot of former Hyperion workers something to do again.

But Vasquez is Vasquez, and even though he’s been largely declawed and tamed he still manages to be a complete pain in the ass. And somehow, he’s Rhys’s neighbor.

Rhys flops onto his stomach, covering his head with his pillow.

Bump bump bump bump bump.

Every night -- _almost_ every night. Rhys is pretty sure Vasquez has banged half his new Atlas employees, probably just to screw with him. Tonight it’s a woman, but there have been men too, albeit fewer in number; Rhys is uncomfortably intimate with Vasquez’s sexual preferences, knowledge he would have never predicted he’d know. But he does. And it’s awful.

He thumps the wall above his bed with his robot arm, loud enough to be heard over the two’s shared moaning and gasping and… whatever else.

“Hey, tryin’ to sleep over here! A little peace and quiet would be really nice!!” he shouts.

There is a pause, and a glimmer of hope sparkles in Rhys’s chest.

And then the two resume with renewed vigor, and Rhys groans and gets almost no sleep.

 

\--

 

He has to tolerate Vasquez’s smug face all day, trying to pointedly ignore it and focus on his work. When he brings the problem up to Vaughn, Vaughn seems legitimately apologetic but there’s nothing he can do; the base is full to capacity. Rhys tries sleeping in his office, but at the moment said office is just a tiny room with a tiny desk and a rickety chair; he falls out of the chair, and can’t stretch out fully on the floor.

He returns to his room.

 

\--

 

Bump bump bump bump bump.

They’re really going at it tonight. Rhys lays spread eagle on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, daydreaming of all the ways he could get rid of Vasquez. Smothering him with a pillow is sounding most inviting tonight.

There’s a particularly loud thump, startling Rhys out of his reverie, and then the rhythm of the bed against the wall resumes, seeming much louder somehow. Most prominently, however, is that Rhys can clearly hear the breathless, gasping moans of Vasquez’s partner, as if she’s been pressed up against the wall right above his head.

He furrows his brows. Annoyingly, by reflex, his dick twitches in response to the frenzied noise. He rolls his eyes. The fact that his dick is even attempting to get aroused makes him more angry at Vasquez.

There’s another loud thump, and then the snap of flesh hitting flesh, and a long moan from the woman. Rhys clearly hears her when she calls out Vasquez’s name and begs for more; of Vasquez, all he can hear is bass.

Something clicks in Rhys suddenly, and he realizes that Vasquez’s partner sounds a little bit like Sasha. It’s not her - no, Rhys would be able to tell - but the voices are close enough that if Rhys closes his eyes he could _imagine_ her.

His traitorous cock twitches again at the thought. Since he can’t hear Vasquez very well, he’s free to imagine himself in that place, free to imagine it’s _Sasha_ begging _Rhys_ for more.

He tries not to, but it keeps coming back. And it’s been so long since he’d gotten off… And nobody would ever know… and maybe a good wank would help him sleep... Hesitantly, he brushes his flesh hand over the front of his boxers.

The night ends very shamefully for Rhys.

 

\--

 

Vasquez seems less smug today, probably because he hadn’t driven Rhys to angrily shout across the wall, but nevertheless it’s annoying. Somehow it seems even _more_ annoying than usual, actually, probably because Rhys has to live with the fact that he’d gotten himself off to very thing he hates so much.

Rhys runs into him in the kitchen around lunch; he’s not doing anything, just sitting at the table pretending to read an old Helios magazine and drinking a cup of coffee, but Rhys _feels_ the smugness radiating off of him, _feels_ the self-righteous grin boring into the back of his head as he rummages for something to eat.

“What’s up, Rhys?” Vasquez asks finally, and something about the way he hisses Rhys’s name makes Rhys want to punch him. “You seem a little tired today.”

Rhys doesn’t reply. He _thinks_ about replying, to be sure, but bites down on his tongue to avoid anything coming out. Vasquez doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.

“How’s your work comin’ along? Still keeping up with the duties of leadership?”

Every syllable drips with snark. Rhys’s spine tingles. He tightens his robot hand into a fist. There’s the sound of paper rustling as Vasquez puts his magazine down, and then hands drum on the table. The sound is so like the rhythmic bumping of his bed that Rhys reflexively winces.

“So listen, Rhys,” he says, “I’ve been thinkin’ about a possible business proposal, and I think you’d like to hear it.”

Rhys closes his eyes and suppresses the urge to scream. Calmly, he pulls a granola bar (or he assumes it is but doesn’t look too close) out of a box on the counter and turns around.

Vasquez is sitting with his left elbow on the table, resting his chin on his knuckles. His right arm - also robotic, after having his arm shot off way back in Old Haven, though not as sophisticated as Rhys’s - is resting on his thigh, catching the glint of the light as he taps his metal fingers on his pant leg. Rhys smiles with as much corporate fakeness as he can muster.

“I really don’t,” he says.

Vasquez tilts his head, as if Rhys had just said something stupid. Rhys feels a prickle of annoyed heat climb up his spine and needle into his shoulders.

“Trust me, alright? You might find you like it.” He raises an eyebrow, just a tiny bit, but Rhys absolutely notices, and absolutely wishes he hadn’t, and absolutely wishes his stomach hadn’t twinged the way it had in response.

At Rhys’s silence, Vasquez continues, leaning back in his seat and stretching his flesh arm. “I know you don’t have much experience leading a company,” he says, and ‘that’s because you’re a douchebag who robbed me of the position back at Hyperion’ runs through Rhys’s head. Instead of speaking, he mechanically opens his granola bar and chews on it. “I, on the other hand, _do_ have experience. And listen, I’m sure you’re just doing a lovely job running Atlas, I have no doubt about that. I’m not about to bargain for an equal position or anything--” He fake laughs. “--all I’m saying is that if you ever needed guidance, or advice, I have it. And I’m willing to share it -- if you bring me on board.”

“I don’t need your advice, Hugo,” Rhys says jeeringly, knowing that the job Vasquez has in mind will bring him close enough that it could easily just dissolve into Hyperion 2.0.

“Maybe.” Vasquez quirks an eyebrow again, looking amused. “Just know that if you don’t take my advice, someone else might.”

Rhys rolls his eyes. Ever since Vasquez had been allowed to stay here he’s become toothless, and he knows it. Vaughn had immediately and effectively shut down every route Vasquez could have taken to snake his way back into power, and now that he’s just another cog, he feels it. His threats are empty. Rhys knows it drives him crazy.

“As amusing as it might be to make you my glorified PA--”

“ _Advisor_.”

“--it’s much more fun to watch you flounder around with nothing to do. Trying sooo hard to get back into power.”

There’s a moment of silence, during which Rhys finishes his granola bar and wonders if he’s actually managed to make Vasquez shut up. Vasquez, to his credit, looks unaffected. He stands up, shrugs, runs a hand through his too-perfect hair which falls right back into his face, and walks towards Rhys, not stopping until he is very close. Rhys can feel the heat coming off of him and has to consciously resist stepping back.

But he doesn’t speak. Just stares. He’s only a little taller than Rhys, but also larger overall, and Rhys tries not to feel overpowered, staring right into Vasquez’s eyes. At length, he shrugs.

“Children of Helios aren’t a company, Hugo,” he says, “and Atlas -- _I_ \-- don’t want you. Maybe it’s time to catch up.”

He turns on his heel and walks away, his heart racing with victory.

 

\--

 

The bumping is louder tonight. Or, maybe not louder, but more aggressive? Vasquez is _pissed_ , and Rhys can tell. Tonight, though, the overbearing, angry, frantic thumping just makes Rhys laugh, because it’s continued validation that he’d gotten under Vasquez’s skin.

He’d replayed their conversation over and over again, endlessly satisfied with his retort. Maybe he could have come up with something better, but given that that was off the top of his head, he has no regrets except that he didn’t snap a picture of Vasquez’s face afterwards.

The familiar sound of slapping comes from next door, jolting him out of his thoughts. When Vasquez and his partner - a man tonight - speak, it’s weirdly close to the wall.

“Yeah, you like that, Rhysie? You like that?”

Rhys’s thoughts dissolve. Another slap, a moan, the thumping becoming quicker. Vasquez’s partner responds with an affirmative sound, though any words go in one of Rhys’s ears and out the other.

Vasquez is _roleplaying_? About screwing _Rhys_?

Rhys scrambles, finds his pillow, and covers his head with it, trying to drown out the noise. Though it drowns out distinct words, he can still feel the vibrations of the now erratic thumping and the bass of Vasquez’s voice.

Rhys is betrayed by both his body and mind at the same time, as his thoughts drift to Vasquez’s quirked eyebrow and amused smirk, and as his cock twitches in response to a particularly loud moan from the man himself on the other side of the wall.

Rhys sighs. He tries to think of anything, _anything_ else, but now the thumping has become so rough and prevalent it actually vibrates his bed; seconds later both men climax, and the throaty, drawn-out groan from Vasquez travels directly to Rhys’s cock. He frowns, gritting his teeth, thankful that it’s over.

Except that it’s not, apparently. Around twenty minutes later he is awoken from half-sleep by the thumping starting again. And this time Vasquez is much closer to the wall, making obscene noises and distracting Rhys from both sleep and any other thoughts.

He keeps thinking about that eyebrow quirk, the little glint of danger in Vasquez’s dark eyes, the way his fingers drummed against his thigh, maybe too close to his fly to be strictly professional. And when he’d gotten close, of the heat rolling off him and the remnants of expensive cologne and hair gel -- and his _hair_ , still stupidly-perfect in its stupid Jack-esque pompadour/swoop/ _whatever it is_. 

Vasquez and his partner continue for most of the night, and Rhys listens to their roleplay, and tries to tell himself it’ll be less weird in the morning.

The night ends shamefully once again.

 

\--

 

Rhys stares into his coffee (Coffee on Pandora is crap, but it _is_ coffee), trying and failing to pay attention to Vaughn, who’s telling him about… Spreadsheets? Data mining? Security around the base? Something.

All morning long he’d tried _not_ to think about how he’d jacked off to Vasquez having sex, and all morning long he’d failed. It still hangs over him now, like a little raincloud of shame, _and_ he’d gotten next to no sleep.

“Dude, you alright?” Vaughn asks, waving a hand between them. “Rhys?”

Rhys perks up at his name, looking at Vaughn and blinking. “Sorry.” He sighs. “I’m tired.”

“Vasquez still keeping you up?” Vaughn asks. Rhys nods.

“Can’t you say something to him? Like… I dunno, like a landlord or something?” Rhys asks. “At this rate I’m gonna fall way behind with Atlas stuff.”

Vaughn laughs; Rhys usually likes the sound, but right now it mildly annoys him. “A landlord?” Vaughn echoes. “Nobody pays rent or anything here, and you know I’m only the ‘leader’ inasmuch as I know slightly more about how not to get eaten by a Skag than most people from Helios.”

Rhys frowns. Vaughn always downplays his own role as leader, but whatever. Rhys is too tired to argue.

“But aren’t you leader enough to say something? Come on, man, I’m exhausted.”

Vaughn stands up and stretches, pushing his chair in and finishing off his drakefruit. “Have _you_ tried saying anything? Like, actual words, not shouting through the wall.”

Rhys doesn’t answer, which is answer enough for Vaughn, evidently, because he nods. “Try that! Otherwise, maybe just move the bed for now. Eventually Vasquez’ll just do everyone here and then won’t have anyone left. Or something.”

He shrugs and pats Rhys’s shoulder, then leaves.

 

\--

 

Rhys takes a deep breath. He’d been trying not to think about this moment, tried to avoid Vasquez all day, tried to come up with the perfect speech. He feels fairly confident that he’s got it down now; he’d rehearsed several times, and has notes in his pocket in case he forgets. He’s ready. It ends tonight.

Except that he’s nervous for some reason, standing in front of Vasquez’s door, trying to muster up the courage to knock. Partly, he assumes, is because he’s jacked off to the sound of Vasquez’s voice, what, twice now? Three times? And the idea that he might be weirdly attracted to Vasquez is frightening in many ways, and--

Something icy cold materializes in Rhys’s stomach. _He’s attracted to Vasquez_.

No.

 _No_.

Suddenly dizzy, Rhys looks around, just to make sure nobody is around who might have read his thoughts or something. He can’t do this now, not now that he’s come to this horrible realization! How is it even possible to hate someone and also want to see them naked?!

He is about to leave when Vasquez’s door opens, at which point all feeling dissipates in Rhys’s legs and he is rooted to the floor. A woman in disheveled clothing leaves, giving Rhys a sideways glance before hurrying down the hall.

“Rhys.”

He knows that smug, hissing voice; he hates that it sends equal parts hatred and arousal through his stomach. Tearing his eyes away from the woman still jogging down the hall, Rhys steels himself and looks at Vasquez, who is leaning against his doorway in an old threadbare robe, hair every-so-slightly askew.

They stare at each other. Vasquez looks maddeningly smug, one corner of his mouth quirked up, faded lipstick marks on his neck and chest. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, all self-righteousness and confidence. Rhys hates himself immediately, because now all he can think of, as Vasquez tilts his head back and reveals his uncharacteristically scruffy neck, is how much Rhys _wants him_. He doesn’t even know _how_ , it’s just a nebulous, sudden, all-consuming _want,_ and the only thing keeping Rhys from doing something really stupid is what comes out of Vasquez’s mouth.

“Can’t sleep?”

Momentarily distracted from his want, Rhys balls his hands into fists and puffs his chest up.

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses. “Why can’t you just shut up? For one night?”

Vasquez just smirks, and Rhys is a mess of confusing, conflicting feelings and some hopefully poetic duality of man.

“What, now you’re quiet?” Rhys grits his teeth, his hands trembling in anger and _whatever_ else is coursing through his veins. “You keep me up for weeks! Weeks! And now you won’t say anything, just to, what? Get under my skin?”

Vasquez’s smirk widens. Rhys knows that this is exactly what Vasquez wants, for him to be so unraveled and desperate, but at this point he doesn’t care anymore. He just wants it to _end_.

“Say something, Hugo!”

Vasquez fake frowns, pouting, making a big show about pretending to think. A moment passes. He puts a hand on his chin, tapping it with his index finger. “I thought you _wanted_ me to shut up,” he says.

Something in Rhys snaps. All he can do at first is let out a frustrated yell, before he takes another step forward and flips Vasquez the double bird.

“Fuck you, Hugo! _Fuck_ you!”

And then Rhys has, for some unfathomable reason, closed the distance between them and kissed Vasquez full on the mouth.

It lasts one very messy second, and then Vasquez pushes him away roughly. To Rhys’s satisfaction, Vasquez looks scandalized, taken off-guard enough that his smug little exoskeleton is shattered.

“What the hell, Rhys?!”

Rhys can’t think of anything to say in his defense. By this point he's made so much noise that the other tenants are poking their heads out of their rooms to see what the commotion is. Rhys laughs at the irony - he’d come here to settle this and get some sleep, and now he’s the one who’s awoken everyone in the hall.

Strangely emboldened (or maybe just on an adrenaline high), Rhys takes another breath and straightens up. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Hugo?” he says. “I heard you last night, pretending you were with me! I heard _everything_!” He steps closer again, trying to take up as much space as he can. “You want me, Hugo? You wanna teach me some stupid lesson?”

Vasquez, to his credit, keeps his face mostly unreadable. He has moved the tiniest bit towards Rhys and his body language betrays him, but his face is set in stone. For a long moment, they just stare at each other.

Everything happens very quickly after that. Vasquez grabs Rhys by the collar and yanks him into the room. Rhys stumbles, and turns around in time to see Vasquez coming at him like a wildcat on the hunt, the door sliding shut behind him. Equal parts terror and arousal flood Rhys, and he has only a moment to gather his wits before Vasquez is on him, grabbing his hair and yanking his head to the side with his robotic hand, and with the other grabbing his ass and pulling him in. He is not gentle, all teeth and tongue and suction on Rhys’s neck, constantly on the edge between pleasure and pain, but the wavering sensation and the hand squeezing his ass goes straight to Rhys’s cock; he tries to play catch up, pressing his hands against the small of Vasquez’s back and grinding against him. Vasquez growls, a sound that reverberates through Rhys’s chest and makes him shiver, and then the hand on his ass has moved to his thigh, lifting it up and around Vasquez’s waist.

Awkwardly, they move to the bed, and Vasquez pushes Rhys down onto his back. Rhys, still just trying to keep up, fumbles with the tie of Vasquez’s robe, while Vasquez has already opened Rhys’s shirt and is roaming south with rough hands. Finally the robe comes off, and Rhys grabs Vasquez’s face, pulling him into another wet, messy kiss. Despite being all teeth and tongue, Vasquez is still somehow amazing at kissing, something that both annoys and impresses Rhys. He is vaguely aware of his pants coming off, leaving both of them in their underwear. Still on the edge of the bed and supporting himself on his arms, Vasquez leans forward until their hips meet, and Rhys shudders at the sensation, muscles seizing. Vasquez chuckles low in his throat, and Rhys pulls away.

“That’s annoyingly hot,” he grumbles, as Vasquez continues kissing, licking, biting down Rhys’s neck and collarbones. He grabs Rhys’s wrists and pins them above his head, grinding maddeningly slowly. Rhys twists, gasping, and Vasquez groans. “I hope you’re happy, Assquez,” Rhys whines, trying and failing to sound angry.

“I don’t know if ‘happy’ is the word I’d use,” Vasquez replies, tightening his grip on Rhys’s wrists. His mouth is on Rhys’s chest tattoos, tracing over them, and then his tongue is on Rhys’s nipple, wet and hot, and Rhys’s hips buck seemingly of their own accord. Vasquez laughs again. “You like that, Rhysie?”

Rhys wiggles, a flare of annoyance twisting his stomach. “ _Shut up_.” Nonetheless, he wraps his legs around Vasquez’s waist, using the leverage to grind upwards. Vasquez shudders but does not stop, lapping at Rhys’s nipple with his tongue, sucking on it hard enough that pleasure bleeds into pain again, and Rhys lets himself go, lets himself moan and buck his hips in desperate search of friction. “Agh--oh, _shit,_ Hugo--”

The use of his name makes Vasquez purr, though he stops what he’s doing to push himself up and catch his breath; it’s probably for the best, Rhys thinks, because that alone would’ve sent him over the edge in a matter of moments. Vasquez lets go of Rhys’s wrists, grabbing his face instead (with his robotic hand, startlingly cold despite the heat between them), pushing it to the side so he can get to Rhys’s neck again. Rhys doesn’t complain; his arms go around Vasquez’s neck, pulling him down until their bodies are flush, sticky with sweat and moving in tandem. Rhys drags his nails and his robotic fingertips up Vasquez’s back, earning him a throaty moan, and Vasquez’s teeth and tongue work over Rhys’s pulse point. In addition to their cocks pressed tight together, it’s almost enough to make Rhys climax then and there.

Vasquez pulls away just in time, actually, leaving Rhys to catch his breath, trembling and flushed from head to toe. Vasquez pushes himself away enough to pull his underwear off, and Rhys follows suit, clambering backwards onto the bed. Vasquez follows; he’s got that weird wildcat glint in his eye again, like he’s staring down prey. Rhys doesn’t even care anymore.

Rhys reaches the makeshift headboard, watching as Vasquez climbs over him, caging him in. He lowers his hips enough to get his flesh-and-blood hand around both their cocks, and Rhys’s whole body tenses.

“That’s good--” he whispers, because he feels like he needs to say something or he’s going to explode.

“Yeah.” Vasquez rocks his hips into his hand, his cock sliding against Rhys’s. The friction is incredible. “ _Fuck_ yeah, that’s good.”

Rhys laughs, mostly just nerves escaping him, and it’s strange when Vasquez laughs too. For a moment all they do is this, just rock against each other’s cocks, both panting and gasping and shaking. After one long, slow thrust, Vasquez groans and pauses, all his muscles going taut. His breath hitches, and Rhys watches as he tries not to come. Somehow -- maybe through sheer willpower? -- he succeeds, and then moves away, crawling across the bed to what passes for an end table. He opens the drawer and retrieves a condom and some lube before returning to Rhys. Rhys watches somewhat dumbfoundedly as Vasquez unwraps the condom and slides it on.

“What--where did those even come from?”

Vasquez glances at him, and then gestures to the bedside table. “The table, genius.”

Rhys has half a mind to hit Vasquez, but refrains. Not taking any chances -- not when he’s so close. “Yeah, uh, no duh. I mean where’d they come from on Pandora?”  
Vasquez fishes in the drawer for another one, unceremoniously tossing into onto Rhys’s stomach. Rhys picks it up; according to the package, it is Jakobs brand.

“Jakobs? Like the gun company?”

“Every company on Pandora is a gun company in some capacity, Rhys,” Vasquez says, as if Rhys should already know this. Rhys flips the packaged condom back and forth between his fingers, trying to decide if he wants to put it on or not.

“I know. But condoms, too?”

“Lots of things.” Vasquez flips open the cap of the lube and squeezes some onto his fingers. As he moves towards Rhys, Rhys instinctively moves away.

“Hey, hey, whoa--just hold on a sec--” Vasquez fixes him with an unimpressed look.

“Rhys, do you wanna keep talking, or do you wanna get on with this?” he asks, idly rubbing his fingers together.

“Well, yeah--I mean--it’s just been a while, okay?” Rhys says. “And you’re not the most gentle person in the world, so excuse me if I’m a little cautious.”

Vasquez moves a little closer, settling his thighs underneath Rhys’s. “I’ve done this a million times, Rhysie, just trust me.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t really help. And would you stop calling me Rhysie?”

Vasquez smirks and shakes his head, and, after a moment, lifts his lubed hand up as if to remind Rhys it still exists. “You good?”

Rhys just nods. Vasquez pushes his legs further apart and slides a finger into Rhys, who shudders. A moment later, he follows with a second finger, and is surprisingly gentle as he works Rhys open.

“See? Not so bad,” he says teasingly.

“Shut up. Really,” Rhys says, though he laughs again for some reason. Vasquez smiles in response, and it’s almost devoid of smugness, which is weird. A third finger in, and Rhys squirms a bit, trying to get used to the sensation. Lazily, with his robotic hand, Vasquez grabs his cock. Rhys watches him pump up and down, slowly, unhurried, just enough to keep himself hard, and then Vasquez pulls out of Rhys and squeezes some more lube onto his hand. Tension and heat and arousal coil in Rhys’s stomach as he resituates himself, as Vasquez slicks himself up and positions himself against Rhys. A confirming glance, and Vasquez pushes in all the way to the hilt.

Shared groans and gasps pass between them, and Rhys takes a moment to try and get comfortable; Vasquez’s cock is fairly large, larger than his fingers at any rate, continuing the trend of half-pleasure half-pain that seems to be the theme tonight. Vasquez has enough decency to wait for the go-ahead before moving, pulling out slowly and pushing in roughly. Every time he does it, currents of electricity shoot through Rhys’s body, the little ball of tension in his stomach pulsing in rhythm.

Rhys looks up at Vasquez, who is watching him from under his lashes with some inscrutable expression on his face. Rhys blinks.

“What’s with the face, dude, you look like you’re not even enjoying this,” he says, trying not to whine as Vasquez pushes in again. It’s a couple of seconds before he gets a reply, though Vasquez’s expression softens as he looks down, grabbing Rhys’s hips and holding them steady, picking up his pace.

“Concentrating,” Vasquez says coolly. Rhys watches him for a second, watches his face before following his gaze down to where their hips meet. And then he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, following suit and just concentrating on the feeling of Vasquez’s cock inside him.

Vasquez pauses long enough to apply more lube before resuming with more speed and force. Rhys grabs his own cock, neglected until now, hissing in satisfaction. As he arches his back, Vasquez’s arms snake under him and he leans down, mouth on Rhys’s neck again. The sound that comes out of Rhys is wholly undignified, though Vasquez responds with a rumbling purr that vibrates through the both of them. Rhys frees his robotic arm and drags his fingertips over Vasquez’s back again, and the momentary stutter in his rhythm makes Rhys laugh.

“Careful.” It’s a warning, though it makes Rhys shudder. He turns his head, managing to get his teeth into Vasquez’s neck, biting down hard at the same time as he drags his fingertips down his back again. Vasquez’s whole body stutters and he abruptly stops with a choked, gasping moan. Rhys laughs again.

“What’s wrong, Hugo, am I messing up your concentration?”

“Shut up, Rhys.”

Rhys bites him again, feels Vasquez’s shuddering breath on his shoulder. There’s half a second of stillness before Vasquez pulls away, grabbing Rhys’s hips and twisting.

“Turn over.”

“What--”

“Turn. Over.”

Rhys swallows and catches on finally, rolling over onto his hands and knees. To his mild surprise, he finds that his arms are shaking so much (even his robotic arm, somehow) it’s difficult to support himself.

Vasquez pushes in again, and the pace he sets this time is far less gentle. Rhys gasps as Vasquez grabs his hips, pulling them back at the same time bucks in; the sounds are obscene.

Rhys attempts to grab his cock again, but Vasquez swats his hand away and grabs him instead. His hand is larger than Rhys’s and he is far more rough, edging just up to pain before dissolving into pleasure again. Rhys squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his climax rapidly approaching as Vasquez pounds into him relentlessly.

And then the rhythm slows and Vasquez lets him go, and Rhys groans at the loss, groans as his climax fades again. Vasquez leans over him, caging him again, using his robotic arm to support himself and his flesh-and-blood hand to sweep over Rhys’s stomach and chest.

“That’s what you get, smartass,” he says, breath hot on Rhys’s ear. Rhys grits his teeth and shakes his head. He tries to say something, but all that comes out is panting half-words. Vasquez chuckles and resumes his previous rhythm, a little more clumsily in this position but enough that it makes Rhys weak in the knees.

Vasquez’s hand roams over Rhys’s chest to his nipple, which is tweaked just enough to get a gasping yelp out of Rhys. He manages to find his voice again, actually thankful that Vasquez’s hand is there to keep him from collapsing.

“I--I’m close--”

“Mmhmm.” It’s more a rumble than anything else, and Vasquez lets his hand lazily slide down to Rhys’s cock, which is slick with precome. Rhys shudders, pushing back into Vasquez’s hips, losing himself in the feeling of Vasquez’s hand rubbing him off.

“H-Hugo-- _shit_ \--” it comes out as a whimper, and then he climaxes with a loud moan and shuddering hips, laughing and gasping. Vasquez’s hand is on him the whole time, and when he finishes Rhys’s arms finally give out and he half-collapses, still panting and riding out the aftershocks.

Vasquez sits up, grabs Rhys’s hips, and fucks hims so hard and fast Rhys has to brace himself against the headboard; he can feel the bed shifting, thumping into the shared wall between this room and his bedroom on the other side, and he almost laughs. Finally, Vasquez pushes in and comes with a groan, his hips stuttering against Rhys’s ass, fingers dug in so hard there’s absolutely going to be bruises later. He lazily rocks in and out as he finishes, savors those last moments.

A very hard slap on Rhys’s ass startles him back to alertness.

“Ow! Geez, what the hell is wrong with you?” He turns, looking over his shoulder, and Vasquez gives him a triumphant smirk as he pulls out and crawls off the bed. Rhys sits up and attempts to look; there doesn’t seem to be any mark aside from a slight pink tint and a burning sensation, but the surprise of it all still rattles through him. Vasquez is on the other side of the room, tying off the condom and throwing it away. Rhys crawls off the bed and pulls his underwear back on, and has just pulled his shirt on when the chance for revenge presents itself; Vasquez is bent over, picking up his robe from earlier. Without even thinking, Rhys spanks him.

Vasquez jumps, stands up, and turns on Rhys, a lot of different emotions crossing his face before settling on unimpressed.

“Really?”

Rhys shrugs. Vasquez grabs him by the collar of the shirt and pulls him to the door. “Alright, well, this was fun, Rhys, but I think it’s time for you to go.” He pushes Rhys into the hall, throwing his pants out after him. “Don’t come back!” Vasquez says in fake cheerfulness, and then the door slams shut, leaving Rhys alone, holding his bundled up pants in his arms.

“Rhys?” Rhys looks over his shoulder to see Vaughn standing nearby, bewildered. Rhys attempts to look dignified, even though he’s sure he’s still flushed and sweaty, and still in his underwear. “What happened?”

Rhys swallows. “I… I said something to Vasquez?”

Realization dawns in Vaughn’s eyes, and then he rolls them. “Rhys… Really?”

Rhys hurries down the hall towards his room, pushing past Vaughn and not looking him in the eye. “Let’s just pretend none of this ever happened, okay?” He half-smiles at Vaughn, trying to find his keycard in his pants pocket, and then fumbling with it until it finds purchase and the door opens. “Alright, good, cool--night, Vaughn!”

The door closes. Vaughn stands in the hall by himself, thoughtful. Finally, he continues on his way, taking note of Vasquez’s door and wondering if he should get in on the action too.


End file.
